Lost Time
by Lady-of-the-Refrigerator
Summary: Liz confronts Red about his illness. /"Elizabeth. Fancy meeting you here." Liz reached out and turned on the lamp on the side table, hoping Red wouldn't see the way her fingers shook./ [S7, Lizzington, Agnesgate, 12/14]
1. Chapter 1

It was pitch black in Red's apartment. Liz navigated her way around it with the help of her cellphone flashlight, afraid that turning on any lamps, even for a short time, would give away her presence and give Red enough of a head's up to chose not to come home tonight. She didn't want to risk that—her heart had been racing since she stumbled across his test results and she needed to talk to him face to face about the discovery she'd made like she needed air in her lungs.

Cautiously, she took a seat in his usual armchair. A whiff of his scent wafted out of the cushions under her weight and she had to scold herself for closing her eyes and following it on the air like a cat. She was here for a reason and it wouldn't do to get caught up in just how much she _missed him_, least of all now. She didn't want to _start_ this conversation in tears.

It wasn't long before Liz heard the key turn in the lock and the knob start to rattle; her whole body tensed as she braced herself for the inevitable confrontation. Dembe had his gun out the instant he noticed the apartment wasn't empty, because it was far too dark for him to identify her in the living room to ascertain that she wasn't a threat.

Red, however, didn't have the same problem.

"Elizabeth. Fancy meeting you here."

Liz reached out and turned on the lamp on the side table, hoping Red wouldn't see the way her fingers shook. Dembe met her gaze across the room and held it for a long moment before he holstered his gun and disappeared into another part of the apartment without a word. He had been fed up with the way they kept secrets from each other for years now; this was just the latest in a long line of truths whose time had finally come.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this… unexpected visit?" Red asked, with a rather conspicuously sarcastic tone as he hung up his jacket and hat.

"You can owe it to the fact that an 'unexpected visit' is the only way I've managed to have any kind of visit with you at all lately, especially outside of work. You've been making so many excuses to avoid coming over for dinner with Dembe that Agnes is starting to ask if something is wrong."

"Tell her she shouldn't worry about me."

Liz tried to swallow her annoyance at his dismissiveness. "You don't go radio silent on me unless you're upset or you're hiding something. So which is it?"

"You'll excuse me if I decide not to volunteer information that I'm sure you already have," he said. "Or am I supposed to believe you didn't go poking around while you were waiting for me to get here?"

"As a matter of fact, I didn't."

Red studied her face as he sat down across from her. "You know, I think I believe you."

"Will wonders never cease?"

He waited expectantly, steadfast in his resolve not to offer up any information sight unseen; Liz would unfortunately have to explain herself.

"Red, come on. Enough with the games. Were you ever gonna tell me that you're sick or not?"

Red let out a huff of air through his nose, shaking his head. "I guess it was too much to ask for Donald to be discreet about this."

Liz sucked in a breath. "Apparently, it wasn't too much to ask. But now I'll have to go tell him off, too."

"Ah," he said, almost sheepish. "Please tell him that I appreciate that he kept my confidence between us before you eviscerate him."

Liz pursed her lips and leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees.

"So what's wrong with you, anyway?" She tried to keep her head, to keep up a facade of stability, when in reality she was afraid she was going to hyperventilate simply because he hadn't denied his illness—there was a part of her that hoped what she saw was wrong and he would explain it away. "I assume it must be serious if you're trying so hard to keep me in the dark about it."

Red watched her silently for just long enough for Liz to think he might not answer her before he stood and went over to rummage around in a drawer for a folder—his medical file. He handed it to her and set about pouring himself a drink.

Liz looked down at the file in disbelief. Was it really that easy? She opened the folder to find page after page of his vitals listed in black and white, as if it was that easy to decipher him. As if he wasn't actually a mystery at all. Underneath it all he was just a man, with the same physical weaknesses as any other man.

Well.

Maybe not the same weaknesses. If all that was wrong was high blood pressure or cholesterol, they wouldn't be having this conversation.

Red cleared his throat and held up the bottle of scotch, but Liz waved him off absently, absorbed in her reading. He sat again and took a long draw from his glass, but she was only half aware of his attention on her.

Once she finished reading, Liz closed the folder and laid her hand flat on top of it, like she could magically make the contents change through sheer force of will; she swallowed around the lump in her throat. "Why didn't you want me to know?"

"You have enough going on in your life without adding any unnecessary worry."

"_Unnecessary?_" she hissed. "This says it's incurable."

"Well, then why would worry be necessary? Nothing can be done."

"Oh my god, that is _not_ how worry works!" she said, jumping to her feet. "I can't believe this. Sam did the same thing when he got sick and because of that, I never got a chance to say goodbye. How dare you try to take this from me, too?"

For the first time, Red's blasé attitude faltered. Liz's stomach sank when she registered what she'd said and how it could be taken, considering Red had been the one who…

"I'm sorry, I don't—I don't mean it like that…" she stuttered. "I mean… _fuck_."

Liz began to pace the length of Red's small sitting room; she felt like she was about to wither and die right along with him.

Red cleared his throat. "What _do_ you mean?"

"I mean I think I deserve to know that someone I love is dying."

Her statement, simple though it was, felt heavy in the air between them. Significant. It still shocked him, she thought, whenever she said that she loved him. He had yet to say it back in so many words, but his actions spoke louder. Even the distance between them now spoke to the depths of his feelings for her.

"There has to be something we can do," she said, her voice very small.

Red set his glass on the side table and approached her, stopping close enough that his presence was a comfort, and spoke to her in a low, calm voice.

"I've tried everything I can think of—every test and experimental treatment in the book, and many very much _not_ in it. Nothing has made a difference for long." He shrugged. "Without a living blood relative to provide a healthy sample, there's nothing that can be done."

"You mean to tell me if I actually was your daughter, I could've saved you?"

"Life is full of little ironies, isn't it?" he said, with a wistful smile.

"I don't know whether to say that I wish that I was, because I _don't_—" Liz leaned in, almost close enough to brush her lips over his, desperate for him to understand why she wouldn't wish to be his daughter even now—"but if I was…"

"I know, sweetheart," he said, tentatively taking her hand in his, "I know."

They fell silent for a long while, watching each other with no movement other than his thumb slowly stroking her hand.

"I guess the one silver lining in all this is that my father probably died the same way, if nobody murdered him first," Red said, eventually.

"God. What kind of silver lining is that?"

"A dark one. But no matter how indirect, it always felt a bit like… retribution, to have had a hand in his death."

"If that's supposed to make me feel better…"

"It isn't, really. But it does give me a measure of peace, I guess," he said. "It's not a… pleasant end. There's no need for you to go through it, too. When the time comes, I'll bow out gracefully and—"

"No."

"No?" he repeated with an incredulous laugh.

"No. You don't get to leave. You don't get to run off like a wounded animal to die alone," she insisted. "I care about you—_we_ care about you—too much for you to just disappear. You don't get to come into our lives, to—to make us _love_ you, and then _leave_. It's too damn late for that to be OK."

Liz's voice cracked as she argued and the tears welling up in Red's eyes, the slight trembling of his chin, made her own tears spill over and run down her cheeks, too. She pulled her hand away from his and gripped him by the lapels, rapping his chest with her knuckles as she pressed her fists against him. "Promise me you won't leave."

"Elizabeth—"

"_Promise_."

He held her gaze for a long moment. "All right. I won't go."

"Good. I'm going to hold you to it. You know that, right? No wiggle room for loopholes or anything like that. You stay, and we go through this together." He nodded, looking away. "Thank you."

"I can't believe you're thanking me for making you watch me die. Again."

"See, that's why this doesn't make sense." She slid her hand up to cradle his face, to bring his eyes back to hers. "You're supposed to beat all the odds. When you die, you're supposed to be an old man, warm, comfortable, secure… Surrounded by people who love you."

"That was never a likely end for a man like me."

"Well, neither is this," she said. "I hope you don't _want_ to die…"

"No. For the first time in decades, I find I am not prepared to die. Which is frankly a little terrifying. I've had no choice but to be prepared for death to come at any moment simply due to the nature of the life I live, but lately…" He sighed, his breath catching. "Lately, I can't wrap my mind around it."

"I can't either. We've had so many close calls, but… I just wish…" Liz trailed off.

"We can't focus on regrets; that way lies madness. We have to make the most of the time we know we've got left."

"And we have to keep searching," she added. "I don't care if you think it's futile. Breakthroughs happen every day."

"Elizabeth…"

"We have to. You can't die. I need you."

"You're stronger than you think you are—"

"I know how strong I am. You can need someone and still be strong. You should know that. You're the strongest person I know and even if you try to hide it, I know you need me, and Dembe, and-and Dom… and none of that makes you weak."

Liz rubbed her thumb back and forth on Red's bicep. He glanced down at her hand and then back up, searching her face with his head tilted slightly to one side. For a moment, she thought he would lean in and kiss her.

The moment broke.

"Dinner," he said, out of the blue, with a voice full of emotion that the word alone did not explain.

"What?"

"Even the strongest person in the world needs to eat—you don't want me to wither away, do you?"

Red turned on his heel and headed for the kitchen; Liz trailed after him, still a bit bewildered by the sudden shift in mood.

"Shouldn't I be making something for you?"

"Since when do you like to cook?"

"Well, I don't, but…"

"Elizabeth. I don't want you to start treating me like I might keel over at any moment. I am perfectly capable of making dinner. And I hazard a guess that I am probably more capable of doing so sick than you are perfectly healthy."

"I guess that's true," she said. "Unless you like tuna."

"I _love_ tuna. I'm not terribly fond of Sam's 'world famous' tuna salad recipe he must've stolen from an ad in one of his mother's magazines in the 50s."

"I think it's good."

"It has _cottage cheese_ in it. There's a time and a place for cottage cheese, but that is not it. The texture alone!" Red shivered.

Liz laughed, wrapping her arms around Red's shoulders, and he returned the hug; she could feel his answering chuckles through her chest.

His hands were warm at her waist. She felt her ears start to heat irrespective of his warmth as her awareness of his body grew. Pulling back to meet his eyes, she cupped his cheek, ran her thumb over his surprisingly clean-shaven skin.

This couldn't be the end. It just couldn't be.

"Don't you start crying on me again," Red said, sensing the shift in her thoughts.

"It's not fair."

"Maybe not," he said, after a painfully long silence. Liz breathed a sigh of relief; she'd been afraid he was about to argue that he deserved this and she didn't think she could handle that.

She swallowed hard and, nodding to herself, she closed her eyes and captured his mouth in a kiss. His hands tightened at her waist as he inhaled sharply against her cheek; she'd surprised him, but not enough to make him pull away.

He returned her earnest kiss with one full of tenderness. There was no longer any reason to discourage this. Time was limited—why deny either of them the connection?

Gradually, Red hands made their way to the small of Liz's back, almost unconsciously pulling her closer as their kiss deepened. She licked at his lips and he parted them without hesitation. It made her intentions more than clear: this was not a kiss of comfort between platonic friends. It was a kiss borne of passion that had been denied for too long, of lost time and missed opportunities. She wasn't going to sit back and let either of them miss any more, and thankfully he seemed to agree.

Liz took a step forward and then another, penning Red in against the counter. He started to stiffen where he was pressed against her belly. She broke the kiss when a giggle bubbled out of her unbidden.

"Some things still seem to be working just fine."

"Well, I'm not dead _yet_," he said wryly. She snorted and kissed him again, tightening her hold on the back of his neck to keep him close, savoring the sensations his curious, reverent hands were evoking as they explored her body.


	2. Chapter 2

Liz heaved herself up onto the counter and pulled Red between her legs. When she worked her hand between their bodies to try to undo his belt and fly, he broke their kiss.

"Here?" he said, breathless at her ear.

"Yes. Here. Now."

"I would've thought the bed…"

"I thought we were working on borrowed time."

Red pulled back and met her eyes. "I'd like to hope time's not quite _that_ limited."

"Then can't the bed wait until next time?"

He blinked, and his eyes crinkled at the corners, warm and fond. "I like the sound of next time."

"So do I."

They stared at each other in silence for a long, charged moment before he nodded, his mind made up. "Text Dembe, tell him to stay the hell out of the kitchen for a while if he values his innocence. And maybe put on those fancy noise cancelling headphones he likes so much."

Liz laughed while she typed up a much more straightforward message and then tossed the phone away to pull Red close again, her cheek muscles aching from smiling. She nipped at his lips and he opened his mouth for her, groaning when her tongue began its exploration.

He undid the fly on her skinny jeans and gripped the waistband to slide them down her legs, lifting her off the countertop a bit to help them along; she finished her work on his fly, eager to free him so she could feel him against her skin to skin.

Liz wrapped her hand around Red's cock while they kissed, slowly stroking up and down his length, trying to imagine by touch alone what he would look like, until her curiosity finally got the better of her and she glanced down. She felt an aching, empty throb between her legs at the sight of him; after years of guilty fantasies, she could form such a vivid image in her mind of what he would feel like inside her that it was almost surreal.

Red ran his hands along Liz's thighs while she studied him and tried to memorize his reactions to her touch. He regarded her with a stark wonder plain on his face—as if he couldn't quite believe she had her hands on him in such a way. She wanted to spend hours—days, _weeks_—discovering more about his body. To know him inside and out, same as she'd wanted to ever since the day they started studying him at Quantico.

Well.

Not in _exactly_ the same way.

Even so, she wanted to know him better than anybody else did. She wanted to be the foremost expert in all things Red—all they needed was more _time_.

"Elizabeth," Red said, his voice deep and passion-rough. "Please let me taste you."

His thumbs teased at the inside of her thighs, raising goosebumps on her delicate flesh.

"I want you inside me."

"Just one taste," he said, and it sounded like it was the most important thing in the world to him to be granted this single wish. None of her previous lovers had given that much weight to such a request; being with her hadn't so much seemed like a privilege to them as an expectation.

"All right."

A wave of desire crashed over her as he lowered himself to his knees much like he did the day he surrendered to her in the park, and with a tender touch, encouraged her to spread her legs further apart. She didn't need much coaxing; the look in his eyes alone was enough to make her want him more than she ever had before. Which was saying something, truth be told.

Red kept his word in his usual way: loopholes and technicalities. He took a distractingly circuitous path to his promised taste. Nuzzling her here, caressing her there, inhaling her scent as if it was the most luscious fragrance in the world. He was going to make his promised taste _count_.

And he was going to drive her mad with anticipation until then.

"How long is this taste gonna—_mmm_…"

Slow and teasing, he dipped a finger inside her, all pressure and slick friction. Once he was knuckle deep, he pulled out just as slowly to slide in another finger alongside the first. It had been a very long time for Liz, and the slight stretch set her nerve endings alight, drawing a moan from her throat. What a wonderful change it was, she thought, to not be able to predict every move of her own fingers or an impersonal toy. And it made her _want_, it made her _crave_ the fullness and heat that would come later.

Once Red finally, _finally_, lowered his head to her and touched her with his mouth and tongue, neither left her, even as he thoroughly, thoroughly explored her intimate flesh. His fingers kept busy, too—thrusting, massaging, rubbing—while he drank her in and made good on his warning to Dembe that he would need his noise-cancelling headphones. The sounds Red made would've been loud enough and obscene enough on their own warrant it; he was clearly savoring every last slide of his tongue and lips over her slick flesh.

He had a knack for playing off her responses, predicting what would bring her to greater and greater heights of pleasure. Just when Liz thought his attentions would bring her over the edge, Red pulled away and pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of her thigh.

"Thank you," he said.

Liz let out an involuntary giggle as she tried to catch her breath.

"You're thanking me?" She let her head rest back against the cabinet door and ran her hand over the short hair on his head. "God. Well, you're welcome."

"Let me know when you're ready to—"

"I've been ready for you for years," she interrupted.

"Oh, you have?" he said, with his own involuntary chuckle.

"You have _no_ idea," Liz said.

(If she was honest with herself, she'd lost track of how many times she'd been ready for him by the end of their conversations over the years, even their arguments.

_Especially_ their arguments.)

"Come on, get up here. The floor must be hell on your knees."

Once Red stood up far enough for her to have leverage, Liz pulled him in for a deep, searching kiss as she again wrapped her fingers around his length, hot and thick and heavy with want. He began to subtly thrust into her fist, just a slight rocking of his hips as they kissed.

"Looks like you're still ready for me," she said against his lips.

"Mmm, more than you could possibly know."

She dragged her thumb across the head and he gasped, and gently took her hand from him, encouraging her to hold onto his hips instead.

Liz scooted closer to the edge of the counter; once Red aligned himself and began to push forward, she locked her legs behind him, pulling him flush against her. She felt him whimper into her mouth as he slid all the way inside, while her body welcomed him.

He fit her like a glove, at this angle, at least—filling all her empty spaces while she stretched around him, gripping and clenching as he moved, deep and pressing. She felt as if she might lose her mind each time he withdrew, caught up in her need for _more_, until his hips snapped and he buried himself again to the hilt.

It felt far too good to last for long, but that was OK. The goal wasn't to take things slow. They'd done nothing but take things slow for far too long.

But maybe next time could be slow. Maybe next time could be something other than a desperate clinging in a tiny, old kitchen, a frenzied culmination of years of yearning, a symphony of a pair of voices crying out in ecstasy.


	3. Chapter 3

As it turned out, 'next time' was only a short while later, in the wee hours of the morning.

Liz and Red had put the kitchen back to rights after their escapades, scrubbing down the counters and splashing each other with soapy water in equal parts, laughing together all the while. They'd eaten leftovers out of the fridge because they didn't have the energy to try to cook once they were finished, and disturbing Dembe for takeout seemed inconsiderate after they'd trapped him in his room with their amorous exploits in the kitchen. By the time they'd fallen into bed, they had been exhausted

Liz had awoken after a few hours from a dream—a nightmare, really—to find Red's concerned eyes searching her face in the moonlight. Her nightmare hadn't come true yet, it seemed—he was still alive, still with her, still close enough to hold, to touch, to kiss.

Which she did.

Perhaps her urgency had given him insight into the content of her dream, or perhaps she'd woken him with unconscious words that gave it away, but regardless he seemed to understand what she needed very quickly when she began to tug at him to cover her body with his, to push his boxers down, to shove her own underwear off and wrap her legs around his hips.

Red kept pace with her, meeting her every move in a magnificent counterpoint, every sigh and moan with one of his own. When he lost rhythm and started to spend himself, she held him to her so very tightly. She never wanted to let him go.

He kissed her then, deeply enough to help her lose herself in the moment as he trailed his hand down her body and, with skillful fingers, brought her to completion, too. Her release—and relief—was profound, her entire body relaxing so thoroughly that she drifted off again without a single conscious thought in her mind. They slept peacefully from that point on, with no more nightmares disturbing their slumber.

When Liz woke for the second time that morning, it was to the sound of the shower running and Red's muffled voice singing Dean Martin—horribly off-key but incredibly endearing all the same. It was a sound she could imagine herself waking up to for years to come, if only fate would allow it.

That was perhaps the hardest part of this whole ordeal to come to terms with. Red didn't seem sick—not at all. He still seemed so vibrant, so full of life, and his stamina, well… There was definitely nothing lacking in that department, no siree.

Since he'd come into her life, he'd been a constant, the one person she could count on to always be there, through the bad and the good. The idea that he might soon be gone forever was mind-boggling. She'd only just gotten over the last time she nearly lost him, and even then she hadn't quite let herself believe his death would actually come to pass.

Now, she wasn't sure that her stubbornness and refusal to accept his imminent mortality had done her any favors. It certainly did nothing to help her prepare to lose him this time.

What a cruel thing that their time together would be so limited, and not only by the years between them, which would be more of an inevitability than a tragedy.

Liz blinked back tears and shook herself. No. No more crying. Today would be a happy day, a hopeful day. She would have to focus on how much it warmed her heart to see Red acting light and cheerful again at long last, and especially to have had a hand in it, since she certainly had a hand in his unhappiness lately. They could worry about the future later.

Once she was composed enough that she didn't think Red would be able to sense her previous mood, Liz wandered into the bathroom. She poked her head behind the shower curtain with a smile on her face that Red instantly mirrored, and all at once, it didn't seem like it would be so hard to be in good spirits today.

"Morning, sunshine," she said.

"Elizabeth," he said, his voice a jaunty rumble. He leaned in for a kiss and, with a warm, lingering look, he returned to the task at hand.

"Sorry about the morning breath."

"Don't worry about it," he said. "There are fresh toothbrushes under the sink if you want one, though."

"Thanks." Liz rifled around in the cabinet until she found what she needed.

It wasn't long before Red turned off the shower and stepped out onto the fluffy rug, reaching for his towel. When Liz raised her head after spitting into the sink, she caught sight of him in the mirror drying himself off behind her and she hummed her appreciation of the view.

But then Red turned his back to hang the towel again once he was through and it was as if Liz was suddenly plunged under water—everything slowed to a crawl, sounds muffled, and she was hyper aware of a surreal doubling of time and location.

Burn scars covered Red's back, massive burn scars across the breadth of his broad shoulders and most of the way down to his waist. Liz knew the texture of those scars even before she reached out and touched them, but when she did, the present began to distort and fade, warping and shifting and melding with foreign memories of another time.

The disconnected, foggy sensation was shockingly familiar—it had happened to her before, multiple times. When Luther Braxton kidnapped her and started digging around in her head. When she shot Tom Connolly and the recoil of the gun echoed the night she had shot her father. When… When she tried to marry Tom and Red interrupted the ceremony to help fight off Solomon's people…?

(What could that possibly mean? That day, the experience hadn't ended with any revelations, as if something was missing, holding her back. How odd…)

Whenever Liz's manipulated mind struggled to reconnect severed pathways, to piece together shattered and hidden memories, _this_ was what it felt like. It made her stomach reel and her head swim, her body flushing hot and cold as long lost parts of herself were stitched back together.

It was as terrifying as it was liberating, because she could never guess whether the parts of herself returning were going to be positive or traumatic. It was a wild journey, one she never quite got used to no matter how many times she experienced it, and her only choice was to hold on tight and ride it out until it ended.

Today, her memories featured echoes of a man unconscious on the floor with his back in flames… but those echoes weren't the _focus_ of these memories. No, they were nothing but shadows. It was almost as if she was remembering a time when she _remembered_ the unconscious man—when she remembered trying to rouse him, remembered burning her own wrist when she shook his shoulders, which, while not actively aflame by the time she touched him, were still hot enough to singe her skin.

Soon enough, the stronger, clearer memories began to take precedence in the forefront of her mind. Warm, romantic lighting, upbeat music to put her at ease, good alcohol to dull the existential dread, delicious pie she only ever tasted from a familiar pair of lips, intoxicating heat and pleasure engulfing her body…

With a sound like wind whipping across corrugated steel, she was mentally transported to another time…


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Some lines of dialogue here might sound familiar because they've been borrowed and tweaked from a scene in S2. I'm playing by the rule of TBL memory manipulation that certain people/events might be remembered, but in different roles than what actually occurred. There'll be more detail in the next chapter.

* * *

"You've been awfully quiet, Lizzy," Red said.

"Have I?"

Red nodded and took a sip from his glass, watching the liquor swirl. "If there's something in particular that's weighing heavily on you, maybe I can help… ease the burden for a while."

Liz fidgeted with her glass, awash with nervous energy. Since they had come back inside from their impromptu stargazing excursion, Red had been avoiding looking her in the eye. Not pointedly, of course. It was a subtle thing, but because her awareness of him was so heightened, she couldn't help but notice the way his gaze skittered away to land on her nose, or her hairline instead.

She understood why he was struggling, of course. In all honesty, it was the first thing she felt she really understood at all since she shot Tom Connolly.

Red had been more open with her that night than he usually was, more forthcoming about his… Well, his _feelings_ for her—she couldn't think of any other way to describe it. His words had taken her breath away out under the starry sky, but before she could gather her thoughts to respond, he had ushered her inside, ostensibly worried about the damp, chilly sea air.

Red's confession, such as it was, was proving nearly as overwhelming for him as it was for Liz. He seemed restless now, same as she did, unable to settle down properly onto the couch across from her. She'd been searching around for something to say before he'd finally broken the silence, but she couldn't even begin to imagine what would suit a moment like this.

It wasn't every day that someone told you that you were their guiding light. She couldn't respond in kind, exactly. He wasn't so much a light in the darkness for her as he was stable, sturdy ground, an anchor to keep her from drifting too far out to sea.

Red cleared his throat, and Liz shook herself, turning her attention back to the tangible version of the man in the room with her rather than the theoretical version of him in her mind.

"You think you can help me find the peace below the winds?"

"Sure," he said, a gentle smile curving his lips. "At least I can try. What's on your mind?"

Liz set her glass on the coffee table and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees.

"Today, in the diner. It's the weirdest thing, in those moments with the hostages and the FBI watching our every move, one thing kept running through my head."

"What was it?"

"I don't want to regret anything."

"You did what you had to do today. Being on the run is about survival, first and foremost. What could there be to regret?"

"Not saying yes."

"Yes?" His brow furrowed. "Yes to what?"

"You."

The single word fell like a weight between them. When Red spoke again, his voice was rough.

"Me?"

"Yeah. You're always asking me to do these wild, impulsive things like… running off to Paris for dinner or… or leaving the FBI to race bottle-nosed dolphins on your catamaran and hunt Blacklisters on the open sea. I should've said yes. I would never have been anywhere near Tom Connolly if I said yes."

Red was at a loss for words for a long, pregnant moment. "You couldn't have known…"

"No. You're right. I couldn't have. That doesn't mean I shouldn't have said yes anyway."

"I… I didn't realize you had ever seriously considered taking me up on those offers."

"I didn't, but I should have. I've wanted to. Especially when things have been bad. I just never… had the guts to give it the amount of thought it really deserved."

Red took a deep breath and let it out slowly through parted lips. "Lizzy, those invitations… Don't get me wrong, I did always intend for them to be genuine. But I never expected you to agree to go with me. If that makes you feel any better."

"What if I had said yes? Would you have backtracked? Rescinded the invitation?"

"Well… no. I would have wanted to make sure you knew what you could be facing if you went with me, but otherwise…" He glanced at her briefly, but again couldn't hold her gaze. "I would've counted my blessings and been honored to have you with me."

"I'm with you now."

"Under much less happy circumstances."

Liz pushed herself up onto her feet and started pacing, chewing on the edge of her thumb nail. She could feel Red's eyes on her, following her progress back and forth across the narrow room.

"Maybe we should just disappear."

"Don't say that."

"Why not? You're here, I'm here, all we have to do is go." Liz came to a stop in front of him; he craned his neck to look up at her and Liz felt their eyes lock with a spark. "Run away with me. Once we reach Spain, we can just—"

"Lizzy, if we run away, if we disappear, we'll never get answers. We'll never be able to find out the truth if we're always looking over our shoulders."

"I don't need to know the truth to know what I want."

"What do you want, Lizzy?"

"You. More than anything, I want you."

Liz could hear Red's next breath; it was deep and ragged and sudden, almost a gasp. He swallowed convulsively before he managed to regain the power of speech.

"We… We don't have to run away together for that. We don't have to give up everything else to… explore _us_, if that's what you want. If we defeat The Cabal, if we clear your name…"

"I know. I know that makes sense, but leaving is…"

"A temptation. It _seems_ simpler."

"But it wouldn't be, would it?"

"No. As much as I wish it would be, it wouldn't. There wouldn't be peace—maybe for a little while, but not in the long run."

"Fine. OK." She sat on the coffee table, so close to him that she had to slot her knees in between his in order to fit in the tight space. "But do you know what would be simple?"

"No. What would be simple?"

"This," she said, taking his face in her hands and claiming his lips.


	5. Chapter 5

Liz heard Red's voice calling out her name as if from a distance, worried rather than passion-rough, as her memory of him moved over her, inside her, with his head thrown back in ecstasy, his face the picture of pure bliss. She reached out to touch his arched neck and it was warm but not sweaty, the incongruity of the images clashing in her mind.

Then he touched her, touched her where he hadn't touched her in her mental image, hands holding the sides of her face when the image of him was bracing his weight on his arms instead.

"Elizabeth? Are you all right?" he said. "Please listen to me, find your way back. I'm right here waiting for you."

Liz followed Red's faraway voice as it guided her through the twists and turns in her memories back to the present. Once her blurry vision cleared, his face snapped back into focus, slightly older, with a few more worry lines etched here and there, and more white in his short-cropped hair.

He must have led her out of the bathroom while she was lost in her mind; they were both standing at the foot of his bed and he had his towel wrapped around his waist.

Red's face softened when he recognized that Liz had returned to herself at last. He brushed an errant lock of hair back from her forehead before lowering his hands from her face.

"Where were you?" he asked gently.

Liz breathed deeply through her nose, struggling to calm her heartbeat, to slow her racing thoughts. "With you. We were on the run," she said. "Oh my god."

Red moved to back away but Liz stopped him, clutching at his arm like she'd drift off to sea if she let go.

"What did you see?" he asked, his voice strangely hoarse.

"You. Your scars. You… We were…" Red held his breath, watching her warily with wide eyes. He looked so scared. Like even the slightest wrong move from her would make him bolt. Like he was terrified of the next words out of her mouth. That was all the confirmation she needed that her memories were real and not some bizarre construction of her manipulated mind. "Last night wasn't the first time we slept together."

It wasn't a question and Red knew there wasn't an option for denial; he gave the slowest, most imperceptible shake of his head Liz had ever seen. She nodded, sure of herself now.

"The shipping container," she said, also not a question.

Red swallowed convulsively. "Yes. _That_ was the first time we made love."

"Were there others?"

He took a moment to answer her. "There were. The first night we spent at my friend's theatre. After Solomon," he said. "The… the night you were exonerated."

"Oh my god."

Liz sat down hard on the edge of the bed; Red had no choice but to sit as well in order for her to maintain her grip on him, but it was probably better that he did anyway, because he was a little unsteady on his feet himself.

The significance of them being together the night Liz was exonerated weighed heavily on her in particular and offered her context for some things that had always given her pause. Tom's behavior when he showed up to her motel room with a dozen roses the night after she was released from prison, for instance.

When it became obvious that Liz had only just arrived and hadn't slept there the night before, Tom's eyes had grown dead and cold for a fraction of a second, the same way they had when she had uncovered his secret, and later when she had him bound in the belly of a boat.

Tom had gotten really pushy after that, pressuring Liz to marry him whenever they spent time together, to go back to the way things were and just pretend nothing had happened to change their relationship since they'd been apart. His impatience and fervor had struck her then as over the top and out of the blue, but if he had perhaps been in on the plot to alter her memories, then…

A wave of nausea washed over Liz. Had _any_ of it been real? Anything at all that happened between her and Tom after he tried to worm his way back into her life, the things she thought she said to him, felt for him… Had any of it even happened? Or was it all a ruse, meant to disguise the truth? To use him as a placeholder in her memories, an 'acceptable' alternative to Red?

Tom was dead—she might literally never know. All she had now was Red and _his_ insight and perspective to help her rebuild her perception of herself and her own history. But for how long? Yet again, she cursed the unfairness of his illness. How much time had they already lost?

"You never told me. All this time. Through _all_ of it, through _everything_. You never said anything," Liz said. "How hard that must have been…"

Red's muscles had tensed under Liz's grip when she began to speak, but once it was obvious she wasn't angry about his silence, his entire body relaxed next to her.

"It wasn't as if I had much of a choice in the matter. Circumstances made talking to you about any of this next to impossible. Between the pregnancy and Solomon's quest to hunt you down and the… aftermath… of that, there was never a moment when it made sense to start that discussion. As much as it pained me, I thought you had made your choice and I did my best to respect it.

"When you told me what Krilov said to you, I almost let my mind get away from me. I almost let myself get caught up in the possibility of having an explanation for some of the… changes between us. But I couldn't afford to allow myself to believe in a fairy tale.

"By the time Kate tried her damnedest to destroy me—and mostly succeeded—it was too late to broach the subject. You already thought I was…" Red trailed off, uneasy as ever with the concept of being her father—which made a lot more sense to Liz now. "It wasn't as if I could just… sit you down and explain to you how we carried on a love affair for months when you had a DNA test with supposedly incontrovertible proof that you and I were related.

"Instead, I tried to ascertain what Krilov could've been after as discreetly as possible. At first I wasn't sure exactly which of your memories could be missing. After I figured out what the… theme, let's say, of what was stolen from you was, I _couldn't_ try to explain, even if all signs pointed to my wishful thinking fairy tale being the truth against all odds. There was nothing I could do but continue the search on my own.

"Obviously, without your input, I couldn't pin down specific missing events. And with Krilov off-limits and likely to be uncooperative even if he wasn't, I never did find any actionable evidence of who orchestrated the manipulation. Kate was gone by that point, of course, but… just judging by timing and opportunity, I can't imagine it was anyone _but_ Kate. Although, I also can't imagine she would've been able to do it alone."

"Tom."

"I think so, yes," he said, after a moment. "Timing and opportunity."

"And motive. And… easy repeat access to me." Liz's stomach roiled. "I bet he went along with it eagerly, too. He finally had his chance to _erase_ you and our connection from my life. I don't think Kate would have done that on her own—she wanted me to know the truth about you, not… forget you completely. No, this has Tom's fingerprints all over it. He was always so jealous of you."

Red stared at her, silent for a long moment. "The feeling was mutual."

Liz felt her face heat, suddenly aware of the subtext between Red and Tom's animosity in a way she never understood before.

"You realize what this means, right?"

His brow furrowed. "I'm sorry. No, I don't."

"Agnes. Agnes could be—god, probably _is_—yours. Even if my memory of being with Tom before we went on the run wasn't a lie, it's much more likely that you're her father—timing and opportunity. We have to get you two tested."

Red reeled back, as if his mind was utterly unable to process what Liz was saying; she, on the other hand, had taken to the idea of Red being Agnes' father so quickly, she was surprised her chest hadn't burst from the pure joy of it. She adjusted to the idea so quickly because it was _right_, or at least because it was the answer she wanted. The answer that gave them hope for the first time in a very long time. Hope for Red's illness, of course, but in general, too. Hope for _them_, for her little family that could.

"I couldn't ask that of her," Red said.

"You can and you will," Liz insisted. "For god's sake, Red. We're this close, don't give up on me now."

Red looked genuinely panicked at the suggestion, so Liz decided to take another tack.

"Just… even hypothetically—what would it entail for her to help you?"

"Assuming we're a match? They would take a sample of her healthy blood and use it to synthesize a treatment for me."

"And that would mean what—a blood draw? You're willing to sacrifice yourself over a couple vials of blood?"

"She's a child. It's too much to ask of a child."

"She's a curious, brave, compassionate child. She could be _our_ child—yours and mine, together. At worst, this would be an adventure for her. And she can have a doctor's treat after. I usually buy her a stuffed animal or a new outfit for one of her princesses, but you officially have my permission to spoil her rotten."

"I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll think about this. At least _talk_ to her."

"And just how in the hell am I supposed to do that?" he groused. "'Hello, remember me? I might be your long lost biological father. Can I have someone jab a needle into your arm just in case it'll save my life?'"

"Jesus, Red. Do you really think if we asked Agnes if she wanted to help you, she would say no? You were her world while I was in a coma after Tom died. You were there with her through _everything_. My god, you're probably the only reason she's as well-adjusted as she is."

"While I appreciate the credit for my child-rearing skills, I—"

"Don't be so fucking self-sacrificing. Especially when you have people who need you here. I need you, remember? Agnes needs you. _Especially_ if you're her father. God. She's already dealt with so much. I don't want her ending up like me."

"Like you?"

"Fucked up."

"Elizabeth."

"Come on. You know I am. So are you. But can you deny you'd be a different person now if your dad wasn't an asshole?" she asked. "It's essentially harmless for her. Certainly nothing compared to the harm that losing another father would cause. We can't get so close to a solution only to give up without even trying. Give Agnes a chance neither of us got."

Red was silent for a long moment with his lips pressed together in a thin line, each second more excruciating that the last. "We'll do the test."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Liz threw her arms around Red's shoulders and buried her face in his neck. "Thank you," she breathed.

It was only then that they registered that Red was still almost entirely nude, with nothing but his bath towel wrapped precariously around his waist to preserve his modesty.

Liz pulled back slowly, drawing her hands down his bare chest as she went, distracted by the way his muscles moved in response to her touch. He took her hands in his, stopping their exploration before they reached their inevitable destination snd gave them a quick squeeze.

"It's probably best if we… hold off until later. I have to keep up my strength, after all."

"That's fair. I don't want to screw you to death after all this."

"Oh, but what a way to go," he said with a twinkle in his eye, and they grinned at each other, the tension finally broken.

Liz caressed his cheek one final time and stole a kiss, quick but firm.

"I'll go get ready, then we can grab breakfast and pick up Agnes."


	6. Chapter 6

Red and Agnes sat side by side at his dining table, _fully_ engrossed in the process of creating a masterpiece with a fresh set of crayons, while Liz puttered around cleaning up what was left of the mess from breakfast.

In quiet moments like this, Liz found herself comparing their faces, noting similarities in their features and their expressions. Similarities she had noted absently in the past, but shrugged off—first as her mind playing tricks on her, then as the logical result of Red being her own father, and after that as an unexplained coincidence. Now, though…

It couldn't all be in her head. It just couldn't be.

Tidying finished, Liz sat down across the table from the pair; Red glanced over at her with a smile so unguarded it made her feel a little lightheaded.

"Hey," she said, reaching for his free hand on the tabletop. "I want to thank you and Dembe for a wonderful breakfast. I know Agnes is gonna be talking about those triple chocolate waffles for days."

"They were delicious, weren't they?" Red leaned over and whispered conspiratorially to Agnes. "Do you think we could convince Dembe to go out and pick up another batch for lunch?"

"Red! She'd be bouncing off the walls!"

"No, I won't, mommy! I promise."

Agnes and Red looked up at Liz with matching puppy dog eyes. She shook her head ruefully—she was going to be in a _world_ of trouble with the two of them together.

"You can have them again for breakfast tomorrow and not a second sooner."

"That sounds like a pretty good deal to me. What do you think?" Red stage whispered; Agnes nodded sagely. "It's a date! Triple chocolate waffles for breakfast in the morning. But that means you should go to bed early tonight like a good girl, because then tomorrow will be here sooner."

"That's not how it works."

"Are you _sure?_"

"Yeah!"

"Well, OK. But you should still go to bed when your mother tells you so you can grow up big and strong like her."

Liz swallowed around an unexpected lump in her throat. For Red, suggesting that Liz was strong wasn't just an empty platitude—he meant it, deeply and viscerally. And hearing him say it so casually meant more to her than words could describe, because there were certainly enough times when she feared her ability to impart strength to Agnes would be hindered by how often she doubted her own strength.

Red didn't share those doubts. Red believed in her, even when—especially when—she didn't believe in herself. She still hadn't quite mastered accepting that belief in the face of her own issues, but it wormed its way beneath her defenses, little by little.

Liz dug a tooth into her tongue to stave off the tears that threatened to well up in her eyes. She didn't want Agnes to worry—she was the opposite of upset.

She was startled out of her reverie by Agnes standing on her chair and leaning over the table to show her her drawing.

"I'm finished! Look!" Agnes pointed to each colorful stick figure in turn. "That's you, mommy, and that's me, and that's Red."

"Where's Dembe?"

"Getting waffles."

"Ah, and here he is now! Sans waffles, unfortunately," Red said.

Dembe had returned carrying a small case and nodded to Liz to let her know he was ready.

"Agnes, honey? Since you're done drawing, it's time for the second part of today's adventure."

"What is it?"

"We need you to take a special test."

"A test?"

"It's not a hard test. Or scary. Red's gonna do it, too. Watch him—he'll go first."

Dembe set the case down on the table and opened it, pulling on a pair of gloves while he waited for Red to take the seat in front of him. He opened a test swab and held it up. Red pulled a funny face, which made Agnes giggle, but he opened his mouth wide and allowed his cheek to be swabbed.

"Tastes like cotton. Yuck."

"You're silly."

"You know what? You're right. I am silly," he said. "Your mother has made that very clear over the years."

Dembe capped the swab.

"All set?" Red asked.

"Yes."

"All right. It's your turn, sweetie." Red lifted Agnes up and placed her down again in the chair in front of Dembe.

"Does it hurt?"

"No, not at all," Red reassured her, giving her little shoulders a comforting squeeze.

Agnes imitated Red's pre-swab facial expression to a T, surprising a belly laugh out of Red and a quiet chuckle out of Dembe. Warmth spread through Liz's entire body as she watched everyone giggling and smiling and teasing each other, and words echoed in her mind, words from a dream she had years ago now that popped up at random, sometimes inconvenient moments throughout her life.

_"What do you want, Agent Keen? What do you really want?"_

This. This was what Liz wanted, really and truly. Her subconscious knew it long ago, and she had to dig her way through sticky layers of muck and mire in her mind to unearth the truth once it had been buried.

Liz shook herself, forcing herself to focus on the present and the matter at hand.

"OK, Agnes, on three. The sooner you do it, the sooner you can get back to playing."

Agnes waited for the end of the countdown and opened her mouth. Dembe took the sample and capped her swab as well.

"That's it!"

"It is?"

"Yep. You're all done."

"Mommy, you don't have to take the test, too?" Agnes asked.

"Nope. It's special, just for you and Red."

"Good." She jumped down from her chair and grabbed Red's hand. "Now I can show you what I packed."

Agnes tugged him away from the table to unload the wide array of toys and books she'd managed to stuff into her backpack onto the couch. She painstakingly explained what each and every item was and what it was for, and Red listened like she was sharing the secrets of the universe with him.

* * *

When Dembe returned with the results, Red was dozing with Agnes tucked into his side with the book they'd been reading together open on his stomach. Liz had put in her earbuds with the intention of listening to a podcast half an hour ago, but pressing play slipped her mind quickly enough in favor of watching Red and Agnes slumber in silence.

Dembe was quiet as he came up behind Liz and he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder to draw her attention away from the sleeping pair. When she looked up at him, she couldn't decipher his facial expression at all, but she didn't want to start projecting her own worries onto it. It looked neutral enough, but perhaps purposely so. What if…?

No. She couldn't allow herself to go down that road.

Liz cleared her throat. "I'm almost afraid to ask…"

"Don't be," he said, and he cracked a tiny smile, which grew broader with every word he spoke. "There is no question. Raymond is Agnes' father."

Liz put her head back and covered her face with her hands. "Thank god."

A restless energy overtook Liz's body as relief washed over her; she had to _move_ or she would vibrate out of her skin. It felt something like fight or flight, but in a positive way instead. Without anywhere to go to burn off her sudden excitement, she pushed herself to her feet and pulled Dembe into an awkward, but heartfelt hug.

"I am happy for you, Elizabeth. For all three of you."

Liz searched his face after she pulled back.

"Did you know this was a possibility?"

"No. In the past, Raymond hasn't often shied away from sharing information about his romantic entanglements, but he never shared details about what happened between the two of you while you were on the run. The only time I truly suspected that the nature of your relationship had changed was the night you were exonerated, but everything afterwards seemed to contradict it. Also, the fact that he never brought Agnes up as a potential avenue to address his health problems made me even less likely to consider it."

"You always knew he wasn't _my_ father."

He shifted on his feet. "Yes."

"Don't worry—I'm not gonna ask why you didn't tell me. I know how much keeping your word means to you," she said, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. "I just wish it didn't take so damn much to trigger my stolen memories or else I never would've believed it in the first place. We lost so much time."

"I don't know if this is at all a solace to you, but I do not believe that you and Raymond were prepared back then to face the reality of what had happened between you."

"You're probably right. I remember coming back and being blindsided when he suddenly wanted to keep me at arm's length again, but now I can't be sure how many of those memories are true, or how many of his reactions were in response to an inexplicable change in my behavior as my real memories were chipped away. I doubt I'll ever know."

"I'm sorry you have to live with that uncertainty," he said. "It must be maddening."

"Sometimes. Maybe less now," she said, quietly, looking down over Red and Agnes. "It all came out in the end despite their best efforts to bury it for good."

Red began to stir, his eyelids slowly fluttering. Once his bleary vision cleared, he noticed Agnes first, his lips curving into a soft smile that disappeared as he shrunk back a bit in surprise when he looked up and found Dembe and Liz standing over him, watching him.

"What's the verdict?" he asked, quietly enough not to disturb Agnes.

There was a heavy moment of silence before Dembe answered. "Yes, Raymond," he said. "She's yours."

Red looked down again at the little girl snoozing in his arms. A whole gamut of emotions played out across his face—happiness and love and sadness and _relief_. Tears welled up in his eyes and he turned back to Liz and Dembe, overwhelmed and almost helpless in his reaction.

"Congratulations, brother," Dembe said, bending to brush a kiss against the crown of Red's head. "I'll leave you three alone."

Liz crouched down at Red's side and he reached out for her hand.

"Elizabeth…"

"I know."

"I never dreamed…"

"I know, I know."

"She's so beautiful. I can't believe she could possibly have anything to do with me."

"Hey. Hey. Don't talk like that. We made a great kid _together_. You and me," she said. "And if all goes well, maybe soon we'll be able to breathe again."

Red pressed his lips fiercely to the back of Liz's hand.


	7. Chapter 7

It was easy to watch Agnes get lost in her own imagination; Liz and Red felt like they could spend hours on end doing just that. Once the little girl was stuffed full of dinner and dessert, she got caught up in building an elaborate labyrinth with blocks on the floor for her dolls to hold court in, and Liz and Red sat side by side just watching her play—but as the clock ticked closer to Agnes' bedtime, they decided it was best to give her the news of their discovery.

"Agnes, please come sit down with us. There's something Red and I want to tell you before we get you ready for bed."

"About the test?"

"Actually, yeah. It's about the test. Don't worry, it's nothing bad."

Liz patted the seat next to hers and took Agnes' hand once she climbed up. "We had you take the test earlier because we needed to check something. You see, there's tiny little instructions in your cells and in your blood called DNA. Everybody gets some instructions from their mother and some from their father. If you look real close at those tiny instructions, you might even be able to match them up and find out who someone's mom and dad are. Sometimes, because people can have more than one mommy or more than one daddy, it's important to find that out for sure."

"Patrick at the park has two daddies," she volunteered excitedly.

"Yes, I'm sure he does, but that's not really what I'm talking about right now. I'm talking about how people can sometimes have two daddies at different times. Or two mommies! Or sometimes even more than two! Sometimes parents get divorced and remarried. Sometimes children are adopted. Sometimes there are other reasons—like one of the daddies got hurt, or because it wasn't safe for him to take care of his children."

Liz was thankful for Agnes' natural curiosity in moments like this. It kept her little girl engaged during what must seem like a very long and complicated explanation. A quick glance at Red proved he looked just as enthralled as Agnes. He looked… just like Agnes. The same expression, the same childlike wonder… It was amazing Liz hadn't figured their connection out all on her own.

Liz shook herself; she took a deep breath and continued.

"Now, only one of those daddies will have the same little instructions in his blood as his child. But that doesn't mean the daddy without those instructions loves his child less. Your Grandpa Sam wasn't my blood father, but he loved me so much, he adopted me."

"You mean _you_ had more than one daddy?"

"Yes, I did." Liz bit her lip; it was now or never. "You do, too."

"I do?"

"Honey… when you were born, your blood father wanted more than anything to be in your life and take care of you, but he couldn't—it wasn't safe for him or for you or for me. His… His job put him in danger and if he was in danger, so were we. He did everything he could to make sure you had all that you needed to grow up big and strong, but it would've been too risky to help take care of you himself. It was safer for your daddy to do it, so he did."

"But daddy's gone."

"Yeah, he is."

"Is my other daddy gone, too?"

"No. No, he's not."

Agnes was quick to catch on to the reason they would be talking about this now. "Is it safe for my blood daddy to take care of me now?"

"It is. But your blood daddy needs you to help take care of him, too," Liz explained. "Would that be OK?"

Agnes thought about it for a moment. "Is he sick?"

Liz swallowed around a lump in her throat. "Yes, sweetie."

"And I can help make him better?"

"Yes. Would you like to try to do that?"

Agnes nodded, excited. "Who is he?"

"You know, I bet you can guess who he is."

Agnes' tiny brow furrowed in thought for a few moments before she let out a little gasp and turned to look at Red.

"Are _you_ my daddy?"

Red cleared his throat. "Yes, Agnes, I am."

In a flash, Agnes clambered across Liz's lap to reach Red, launching herself into his arms. He caught her in a fierce embrace and held her for what seemed like forever, his eyes closed, his face relaxed, relieved.

"I love you," Agnes said, after a while, muffled against the skin of his neck where she'd buried her head.

"Oh, Agnes, I love you, too." Red's voice was choked with emotion when he spoke, and Agnes pulled back in alarm.

"Are you sad?" she asked, one small hand flat on each of his cheeks as she searched his teary eyes in concern.

"No, honey. I'm just glad I can finally be here for you again."

"Me, too."


	8. Chapter 8

Liz could tell when Stark noticed her lurking just inside the kitchen because his entire body tensed, but he warily focused all of his attention on Red instead of outright acknowledging her. He must have thought it was safer for him that way. Liz had had a run in with him before, after all.

"You are one lucky bastard," he said. "I don't know how you did it. That sample has all of the relevant markers. Not some. _All_. Do you have any idea what the odds were for you to have found such a suitable match from someone other than a blood relative?"

"I'm afraid the odds weren't stacked against me quite that much," Red said. "The sample belongs to my daughter."

"Your… Your daughter? You have a living daughter? Why on earth would you keep that a secret from me for so long? You _knew_ a blood relative would hold the key to saving your life."

"I hoped you could find another way," Red said, simply, with a casual shrug.

"That was… incredibly foolish of you," Stark said, quiet and measured, but still very nearly to the point of anger.

"I understand your frustration with me, but there are a lot of complicated reasons why I hoped we'd be successful without involving her. Above all, I didn't want to entertain the thought of using her to save myself—she's only a child."

"I see." Stark cut his eyes towards Liz, who was still lurking in the background. "So it's not…"

"No," Liz said emphatically, putting her hands up in defense.

"Spalding, you remember Agent Keen…?" Red said, holding a hand up in her direction.

"Yes, I do," Stark said. "She was part of the cadre of FBI agents who arrested me."

"Well, fortunately for you, she's not here on behalf of the FBI today. She's here on behalf of Agnes." Red exchanged a glance with Liz. "Our daughter."

Stark's eyebrow crept up his forehead on the unparalyzed side of his face. "_Your_…"

"Yes, _our_ daughter."

"I'm sure that's a long and _fascinating_ story—" Liz crossed her arms and began tapping her foot, not at all in the mood to explain their situation to Stark of all people— "that will have to wait for another day. All right."

Red stood and took a couple steps closer to Stark, with a subtle threatening undertone that was perhaps not entirely necessary. He lowered his voice, now deadly serious.

"Before we move forward, I want to be clear about one thing." Stark nodded for Red to continue. "Eventually, even if this treatment is successful, there will come a day when those I care about will lose me. It's not a pleasant thing to think about, but it is inevitable, whether everything goes the way it should or not, given the… not insignificant gap in age between us.

"While this disease is much less likely to manifest in an uncontrollable way, if at all, in girls, I want you to make sure Agnes will have access to this treatment as well, should she ever need it. You can have whatever resources you need to make that possible—I don't ever want Agnes to be left unprotected, is that understood? Agent Keen should never have to face the prospect of losing her daughter, too."

"Of course. That goes without saying."

"Good," Red said, and just like that, he turned off the intimidation like a switch, like his threatening presence had never been there at all, and he was his amiable self again. "When should we bring her out?"

Stark cleared his throat. "Just let me prepare my things."

Liz took advantage of Stark's distraction to usher Red off to the side of the room.

"Hey," she said, taking his hand discreetly. "Agnes is going to be fine. Like you were saying, this is in her best interest, too. God forbid she's an exception, she'll have a treatment ready for her, and it'll be from her own genetic material, so it'll be even less likely to be rejected."

"You're right. I know you're right. It still doesn't make this an easy thing to ask her to do."

"She comes from resilient stock," she said, with a lopsided grin. Stark glanced up at the two of them and quickly looked away when Liz noticed him, focusing again on setting up his little makeshift blood draw station. "This isn't something you need to feel guilty for. OK?"

Red offered her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes and nodded.

Liz took a deep breath and knocked on the door to the bedroom where Agnes was happily watching the same movie on repeat, with Red's cat curled up napping next to her. "Agnes, honey? Do you want to come out and meet Mr. Stark?"

Agnes hopped out of bed and poked her head out around the doorjamb.

Even if Red and Liz vouched for him, Stark was still a new person, and Agnes tended to be guarded and quiet around new people until she got a chance to feel them out. She studied him from a distance, took in his lab coat and his cane. He wasn't a particularly intimidating person, on the surface.

Cautiously, she approached him and held out her hand for him to shake.

"Hello," he said, taking her hand gently. "You must be Raymond's little princess."

Agnes' wary expression brightened at the idea, and she turned back to Liz and Red, who nodded in reassurance.

"You know how that test you and Red took looked for those special instructions and made sure they were the same as his? Well, that's why you can help him," Liz explained. "Some of his instructions got messed up over the years, but yours are perfect. If Mr. Stark uses your instructions, he'll know how to make Red a special medicine that will hopefully fix his. But he needs to collect a little of your blood to do it."

"Will this one hurt?" Agnes asked, eyeing the instruments on the table, the needles and vials a far cry from cheek swabs in the little girl's imagination.

"It might pinch a little," Stark explained, "but I'm sure you've had your blood tested at the doctor's office during your checkup. This is really no different."

"Do you want us close, honey?"

"I can do it," she said, but doubled back almost immediately. "Can I have a hug first?"

"Of course you can have a hug."

Liz and Red took turns kneeling down and wrapping their arms around Agnes. When it was Red's turn, he whispered something in her ear, rubbing her upper arms reassuringly when he pulled back. She nodded and he smiled, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head.

"Go ahead."

Agnes marched right up and plopped herself down in the chair in front of Stark's neat tray, and stuck out her arm, braver than anything. Braver than she should've had to be at such a young age.

Stark swabbed the inside of her forearm and prepared a butterfly needle.

"OK, I'm going to be very gentle, but if you try to hold extra still, it will hurt even less."

Agnes looked away at first, but her curiosity won out before long and she snuck glances every now and then while the vials filled.

Stark observed her with his eyes wide in surprise.

"You're a very brave girl."

"Just like my mommy. My daddy says so."

Stark looked over at Red and Liz, his curiosity about their connection as obvious as Agnes' was for the blood sample process. Liz couldn't quite blame him for his interest. Their story was certainly full of intrigue to an outsider. They were on either side of the law, but they seemed to be on good terms—and somehow they shared a child. But now was not the time to indulge him.

"There you go. Now, which band-aid do you want?"

"That one!" Agnes pointed to the bandage with cartoon cats on it and Stark used it to cover up her tiny wound.

"You're all set!"

"Wait." She made a wish, kissed her fingers, and touched the vials. "There."

"That's the most important part, how could I forget?"

Before Stark could move to put the samples away, Agnes grabbed hold of the sleeve of his lab coat.

"Is there something else I can do for you?

"Just make my daddy OK," she said, coming across extremely sincere and perhaps just a little too intense for someone so young.

"I'll do my best."


	9. Chapter 9

"How are you feeling?"

Red took a deep breath, assessing himself for a few moments. "Good," he concluded, and Liz leaned in for a kiss.

It was a question Liz had asked Red each and every morning since Stark administered his first treatment. The whole thing had become something of a ritual—waking up next to Red, studying his face throughout his last phase of sleep, memorizing every flicker and twitch his slumbering features could offer, and, yes, asking him how he was feeling once he finally awoke…

It had been weeks now since he'd had a truly bad day; he felt pretty run down when he first started the treatment, but Stark had warned them that was likely. His body was hard at work repairing itself—that was the hope, at least.

Most days were good now, and Red could manage pretty much his usual level of activity without any adverse effects. There were days when it seemed like he felt significantly better than he had been feeling the past few years—but that could possibly be wishful thinking and neither of them wanted to get ahead of themselves or jinx things.

Some days were _especially_ good days, and on those days, Liz's morning check in had a tendency to take an amorous turn—at Red's rather enthusiastic instigation, more often than not. Other days, the check in was interrupted by Agnes and Red's cat conspiring to drag him and Liz out of bed for breakfast long before either of them would've moved voluntarily.

Today seemed on track to be shaping up as one of those especially good ones.

"Stark's coming by in a little while with the latest test results."

Red let out a sigh. "Don't remind me."

"I don't understand why you'd dread seeing him. He's only had good news for you so far."

"It's the pessimist in me. Everything is going so well, I can't help but feel like it's about to all come crashing down again at any moment."

"It won't."

"How are you so sure?"

"I won't let it," she insisted.

Red's mouth moved wordlessly for a moment.

Liz couldn't promise that. No matter how much she wished it, she didn't have that kind of power or control over their world. But she had been doing everything that _was_ within her power and control to do to help Red get well and she had no plans to stop now.

"I love you," he said eventually, his voice choked with emotion.

A beat passed in silence before Liz leaned in and took his mouth, demanding and a little rough with nipping teeth and assertive tongue; Red met her enthusiasm eagerly, quick to welcome her attention and encourage its escalation. She threw a leg over his body to straddle him and he groaned when she settled, his growing excitement trapped between them.

"I love you, too," she said, breathless, against his mouth, as she rolled and rocked her hips until his cock had stiffened fully. Reaching down, she freed him from his pajama bottoms and took him inside her in a smooth, gasping slide, throwing her head back at the building tension in her belly. She felt so very full every time she ground herself down, digging her fingernails into the flesh at his sides.

Those sharp spikes of pain moved Red's hips, had him pressing closer, seeking _more_. That had been an interesting thing to experiment with these past few weeks—just how much enjoyment Red got out of some well-placed, controlled, purposeful pain, rather than the aches that came from illness or injury. It was fortunate that he did, because Liz had such an ingrained tendency to be aggressive in bed, and it was nice not to have to downplay it for once.

Her hips moved with a fluidity guided by his hands, which were cool against the bare skin of her ass where he gripped her beneath the hem of his stolen dress shirt, in contrast to the heat buried between her legs. She bent to take his lips again, to taste his ecstasy, drink down his moans…

"God, I wish we told him we weren't free until noon."

"You're the one who insisted on updating your colleagues in person this afternoon, when a phone call is more than sufficient."

"It's common courtesy. I don't need to add any fuel to the fire for when I go back to work."

"Back to work. Right." He ran his fingers down her thighs and back up again, thoughtful and a little teasing, and Liz felt a delightful shiver at the stimulation. "I don't suppose Harold would sign off on me feeding the task force names from afar, would he?"

"Not without a good explanation for why I'd have to be by your side. We've been pushing it with this sabbatical as it is, you know that."

"Unfortunately," he said.

Red looked up at her with such a… a fierce longing in his eyes that Liz could barely breathe. She knew the only thing that kept him from making more of those once-forgotten offers to run off together was his reluctance to uproot Agnes again. Because this—them, their family—meant more than The Blacklist now. Priorities had shifted; taking out the scum of the earth personally was less important than it once was, all his machinations were less important.

"Maybe we can figure something out. I'll see what I can do."

Red reached up and cupped her cheek, running his thumb over her soft skin. "Thank you," he said, with a quiet earnestness that Liz had only experienced on very few occasions. She never quite knew how to handle how it made her feel in the past, and she certainly didn't now—but at least now she had an outlet to _show_ him. Words were so much trickier than actions, sometimes.

She started moving again, urgent now, pushing past his hand so she could kiss him again, deep and searching, as they hurtled along towards completion.


	10. Chapter 10

Liz opened the door for Stark, who greeted her with a silent nod and a stiff smile. He was still somewhat wary around her, but he'd been unbending little by little every visit, helped along mostly by Agnes' endearing and open curiosity as proof that he'd been welcomed into the fold by everyone, not just Red.

He and Red exchanged pleasantries before Red decided to cut to the chase rather than drag out the suspense longer than necessary.

"Give it to me straight, doc," he said, trying to present a nonchalant confidence, but Liz could tell he was bracing himself for the worst. She could see it in every line of his body, in the tightness of his jaw.

Stark took a thick folder from his briefcase and flipped it open, angling it so Red could read along with him.

"Your numbers haven't looked this good in _years_, Raymond," he said. "I almost couldn't believe what I was seeing; I spent the last few hours poring over the rest of your file to be sure that I'm not missing anything, but I'm not."

"So it's working."

"It's definitely working," Stark said, and for once his smile even reached his eyes. "Congratulations. I never thought I'd have a chance to say this to you, but if you keep improving like this, you're going to be fine. You should live to a ripe old age—as long as you cut back on some other, uh… risky behaviors."

Red let out a laugh and clapped Stark on the back. "Spalding, I am in your debt."

"This is a serious recommendation, Raymond. I know you've made some dietary and lifestyle changes recently—and by all means you should keep those up—but it would be even more beneficial to your overall well-being if you didn't put yourself in such… horrifically dangerous situations all the time. The stress alone is detrimental enough to your system, even without the daily risk of violent injury and death."

"Are you suggesting I retire?"

"I—I don't know if I would use that term for it," Stark said.

"But that is what you mean."

Liz narrowed her eyes at Red; what Stark was saying gave so much fuel to reinforce Red's own wishes that Liz almost suspected that they had set this 'intervention' up to bolster his plea for her to cut down on her time with the task force. But perhaps that wasn't the best way to interpret all this. Perhaps she should take it another way—when what Red desired mirrored medical advice so closely, it probably really was what was best for him.

After all, it wasn't as if she wanted to go back to the status quo with the FBI. Her life had been close to chaos since her very first day as a special agent. Truth be told, she could use a _real_ sabbatical—time to spend with Red and Agnes as a family without the weight of the world on their shoulders or the fear of death breathing down their necks.

"Raymond," Stark said. "I understand this is… more complicated for you than it would be for most other men in your situation, but some advice is reasonably universal. Lowering stress, eating a balanced diet, getting adequate rest and regular exercise—it's all pretty standard stuff. If you were an average man in a dangerous profession, then yes, I would also recommend you start considering retirement. This was a _very_ close call, but you made it through against all odds. One stray bullet and it was all for naught. The least you could do is consider it.

"Oh, and of course you should also at least _try_ to keep up with that cardiovascular regime I started you on that you're always trying to weasel your way out of…"

"That won't be a problem anymore," Red said, heading across the room towards where Liz stood leaning against the wall. "I have someone now who'll really be able to whip my ass into shape. She has a completely different strategy than Dembe to keep me on track—much more _hands on_. Truth be told, my motivation has skyrocketed."

Red pulled Liz smoothly into a spin and she let out a shout of laughter at the impromptu dance. Red was all smiles and she couldn't help but mirror his happiness, even if it meant that Stark got even more food for thought about their relationship than he already had.

"I should dip you for that," she said, her voice low.

"Be my guest, you know I'm very fluid."

Not one to back down from a challenge, Liz did exactly as she said she would. Once he was upright again, Red dropped his voice and said, "The fact that you can do that to me so effortlessly is a _major_ turn on."

"Save it for the bedroom," Liz said, cutting her eyes towards Stark, who seemed a bit flustered, but Liz couldn't find it in herself to care all that much. Red was going to survive—he could make all the innuendos in the world if he wanted to.

Besides, Stark had already gotten a considerable window into their relationship these past few weeks. Even if he thought so in the beginning, he no longer had reason to believe that Agnes was the byproduct of a bizarre one-time tryst between CI and handler, and certainly not anything more nefarious than that.

No, Red and Liz and Agnes were truly a family. Dembe, too. An unconventional one, perhaps, but a family all the same.

Just then, Agnes wandered out from the other room. "Mommy, what's going on?"

"Agnes, baby, guess what? Mr. Stark says Red is getting better!"

Agnes' face lit up. "You did it?"

"_We_ did it," Stark said, and held his hand up for a high five. She gave him one as she rushed forward to hug him around the legs, and he patted the top of her head fondly. "My little lab partner."

Agnes turned to Red. "Were you and mommy dancing?"

"Yes."

"But there's no music."

"That's OK, you can dance without music. Here, let me show you," Red said, holding out his hands. "Stand on my toes, honey."

They stumbled around rather clumsily for only a few moments, because Agnes wasn't content to balance on Red's feet for long without trying to set the pace herself.

"Like mother, like daughter," Red said to Liz, as he hoisted Agnes up into his arms. "You'd both rather lead."

"Cute," Liz said, and between Red's mischievous grin and the wicked glint in his eye, she barely managed to fight off a blush. "We should do something to celebrate Red getting better. Do you want to go somewhere special? Disney World? Harry Potter Land?"

"I want to go to the park!"

Red chuckled. "That sounds wonderful. We'll go this afternoon. Just as soon as mommy gets back from telling everyone at work I'm feeling better. Is that a good plan?"

Agnes nodded excitedly.

"That all sounds great, but do you know what we've gotta do first? We've gotta have a nice big lunch to fill that belly of yours," Liz said, gently poking said belly and causing Agnes to twist around in Red's arms, ticklish. "Why don't you go get washed up while I make something."

Red set Agnes back on her feet and she ran off towards the bathroom to do as Liz suggested. "Spalding, can I interest you in a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before you head out?" he asked.

"No, thank you."

"Are you sure? Elizabeth has perfected the ratio of peanut butter to jelly and it would be a shame to miss out."

Stark met Liz's gaze sheepishly; she waved him off. "Don't worry about it, he has to build up my sandwich making skills because I can barely boil water."

"Ah, well, I'm afraid I'll have to decline," Stark said. "Not because I doubt your skills…"

"Oh, of course not," she said. "Come on, I'll show you out."

Liz led Stark down the hall; once she was sure they were out of earshot of Red, she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Hey, one more thing before you go…" Stark waited, silent and expectant, and froze with surprise when Liz pulled him into a hug. "Thank you. I don't think I'll ever be able to thank you enough."

She took a step back and swallowed around a lump in her throat. "He almost gave up. I… I don't know what I would've done."

Stark cleared his own throat. "You're welcome. I'm glad I was able to help. Like I told him, I never expected… Well. You're very fortunate."

Liz nodded and Stark offered her a stiff smile before she ushered him through the door.


	11. Chapter 11

When Liz took her leave of absence, she didn't tell anyone the real reason behind it. Ressler had been the one to inform Cooper about Red's illness. Liz let them connect the rest of the dots for themselves however they wanted to, which they did without much trouble.

By now, it was an open secret that she and Agnes had moved in with Red—the team often danced around the wobbly justification for it, but didn't go out of their way to pry. Their reasoning was simple enough. Red was ill; of course Liz wanted to be close.

Liz had chosen Red over the task force many times before and if the task force wasn't careful to accommodate them, complications and all, she could very well do so again. Because no matter what the status of their relationship currently was—and it was always intense and unwieldy and volatile—above all, it was unbreakable. The task force didn't want to upset the fragile balance when their very existence depended on Red and Liz's sometimes bewildering connection.

None of that made sitting in Cooper's office now any less nerve-racking. Cooper and Ressler were, of course, relieved to hear Red's prognosis. But since they were also eager to get back to work, it would make the news that Liz wanted to share all the more fraught, even though she was more sure than ever that it was the right decision.

It was surreal to be back in the Post Office after so much time away. It always was, to some extent. Whenever Liz had been away for an extended period of time in the past, the first day back felt a little like she was trapped in a dreaded school dream, as if at any moment she was liable to end up trying to use the bathroom and the door would repeatedly unlock itself or she would somehow have to make up fifteen years worth of schoolwork even though she had long since graduated.

Returning this time was even stranger than usual. It wasn't like when she returned after being exonerated, or after she had faked her death, or even after she had awoken from a long coma, because this time she had somehow acquired an entire family and an entirely new world view in the few weeks since she'd last walked down these halls. The whole place felt completely foreign to her. Or she did, to be more precise. It felt like she no longer belonged there. She hadn't expected to feel that way at all.

From her colleagues' perspective, nothing about her had even changed. The gulf between their understanding of her and her true self had never been wider. For all they knew, she had only been offering Red emotional support while he underwent treatment for his illness. They didn't know about the bond they'd been building. Hell, they barely had a grasp on the bond they'd already had, bizarre as it was.

"Do you have any insight into when Reddington might be well enough to continue with The Blacklist?"

"We're gonna give it at least a few more weeks, I think." Liz took a deep breath. "But once we do start up again, we're going to be scaling back our personal physical involvement."

"You, as well as Reddington?"

"Yes, sir."

"Really?" Ressler said. "I can't picture you being satisfied with a desk job."

"That's funny, because this job sure as hell hasn't been the job I trained for."

Liz knew she sounded defensive and flippant, but it was true—and the more she thought about it, the more fulfilling she found the idea. This job was not at all the one she wanted, the one she spent so long dreaming of. She was _supposed_ to be a profiler, not… not whatever the hell she'd had to become instead.

"I guess if Reddington's on board with it, I don't have a reason to object, but… can I ask why you want to scale back your involvement?"

"We've done a lot of thinking during all this. A lot of talking. Things have changed drastically since we first set up this arrangement. As important as The Blacklist is, we can't keep putting our lives in danger like we have been week in and week out. I was in a coma for ten months. Reddington's nearly died more times than he can count. There's too much at stake. We can't bring down the criminals on The Blacklist if we're dead."

_And I don't want my daughter to grow up an orphan like I did. She's come close enough already,_ Liz thought, but didn't say.

Cooper regarded her silently for an uncomfortably long while, so uncomfortable Liz was surprised Ressler didn't break the silence himself.

"You've done good work with this task force, Agent Keen. I'll be sorry to see you step back, but I certainly understand why you would. I'm a little more surprised about Reddington making the same decision, since he's acted like he's had a death wish his entire criminal career, but then again nearly dying for reasons beyond your apparent control will make you reconsider a lot of things, a lot of risks that _are_ within your control."

"Yes, sir, I think it's been a wake up call for him."

"Is that everything you came here to tell us?"

Liz swallowed. "Yes, sir."

"All right, then, you can go."

Liz was almost out the door when Ressler finally spoke again.

"Hey, Keen? Tell Reddington I'm happy for him. That file of his didn't look good. It's lucky he found a match or whatever that worked in time, though god only knows what he had to do to find it."

The hairs on Liz's neck stood on end. Ressler's well-wishes seemed innocent enough on the surface, but the implication itched at her. It burned. There was nothing evil about this, nothing underhanded. Red had done nothing—_nothing_—wrong in surviving. She couldn't let those suppositions fester.

"It was Agnes."

"What was Agnes?"

"Agnes was the match," she said, staring off at the ceiling in the corner of Cooper's office. "She donated a few vials of blood and Red's doctor was able to synthesize a viable treatment for him."

Cooper and Ressler sat in stunned silence for a tense moment.

"But Reddington isn't your father."

"No, sir, he's not."

"God. Agnes, of all people. What are the odds of that?" Ressler remarked.

Liz screwed up the courage to meet their baffled gazes. "Next to impossible," she said, silently begging _one_ of them to read the truth between the lines so she wouldn't have to come right out and say it.

"If she wasn't a blood relative of his," Cooper clarified—he had obviously put the pieces together quickly enough.

Liz pressed her lips together and nodded. "If she wasn't."

The color began to drain from Ressler's face. "What?"

"Ressler…"

In one swift motion, Ressler took to his feet and brushed by Liz to leave Cooper's office without another word. Liz took his abandoned seat, deflated and a little shaky with adrenaline. She truly _hadn't_ planned on coming clean when she came in today. Now she had no choice but to deal with the fallout.

She felt Cooper's eyes on her; it made her want to fidget with her scar. "You're not gonna storm out or start chastising me for fraternizing with the enemy?"

"I'm not really the storming out of the room type. As for the rest?" He shrugged. "What's done is done. You turned to each other when you were on the run together. That's not so unimaginable."

Liz blinked in surprise. "Sir, as much as I appreciate your understanding, I feel I would be remiss to let you believe that it was a one time thing. Or even a temporary thing."

"So I'm not wrong to assume it's still ongoing?"

"No."

He let out a heavy sigh. "Obviously, I have questions… _and_ some concerns. But I'm not going to bother with them now. This was a near miss. Just focus on moving on from it first, focus on healing. After everything's settled… I wouldn't mind a more thorough explanation."

"You don't seem terribly surprised. Either that or you've got a killer poker face."

"I can't pretend the possibility never crossed my mind. Your pregnancy coincided so closely with your time on your own with him, it would've been remiss of me _not_ to suspect that it wasn't a coincidence. What kind of investigator would I be if I didn't consider all plausible possibilities?"

"You never said anything."

"No. What would that have accomplished?"

It took Liz a moment to find her voice. "I would've thought I'd be reprimanded at the very least…"

"You were already operating outside of the law. Seeking comfort from a man who dropped everything to help you, despite the risks to his own business and reputation? From a man who proved he cared enough to keep you safe when no one else would? I'm supposed to discipline you for that?" he said, one eyebrow raised. "That's the least of what you were accused of."

"Well. I… appreciate your pragmatism."

"And I appreciate your candor, regardless of the roller coaster ride it took to reach it." He gestured towards the door. "Now you better get back home. Reddington'll have a search party out after you."

Liz nodded, taking to her feet with the hopes that her still-shaky legs would cooperate with her.

"Oh, and Agent Keen?"

"Yes?"

"Please give him my congratulations."

"Yes, sir."


	12. Chapter 12

Ressler was in the office. Of course he was. When did anything in Liz's life ever go the easy way?

She weighed the possibility of going a few more weeks without the things she wanted to grab from her desk and cursed under her breath. So much for making it back to her car without a confrontation.

Oh, well. Might as well get it over with now, rather than waiting and have it hang over her head indefinitely.

Pushing open the door, Liz braced herself for an outburst, an argument, anything. There was no telling how Ressler would take the news that Agnes was Red's child.

"Hey," she said. "You skulking around in here so you can bite my head off for this now or are we good?"

"I'm not skulking."

"Sure you're not."

"I'm not. It's my office, too, in case you forgot. It's been mine alone for weeks."

"But that's my desk." Liz slumped into Ressler's chair, facing him across the expanse of their desks, and crossed her arms over her chest. "What the hell do you want from me, Ressler? If you're gonna chew me out, just do it and get it over with."

"I'm not gonna chew you out."

"Well, that's a relief," she said, but her tone was flat. "Why are you in here lying in wait if that's not what you're gonna do?"

Ressler seemed agitated and defensive, and a little annoyed—an incongruous cocktail of emotions for the lecture Liz expected from him.

"There's something I think you should hear. I don't know if Reddington ever told you. You've never mentioned it to me, so I'm guessing he didn't." Liz shook her head, shrugging her shoulders in confusion. "I used to visit now and then during those ten months you were in a coma. He let me sit by your bed for a while. Sometimes I talked, told you about the things we were doing at the Post Office without you. Sometimes I just… sat there and watched you. I know you weren't just sleeping—it's kinda hard to miss the ventilator—but there was part of me that hoped you might sense that I was there. I guess you didn't."

"You're mad that I didn't—"

"No," he said, cutting her off. "Can I just get this out, please? This isn't easy for me to talk about, OK?"

"Fine. OK."

Ressler nodded, leaning back in the chair. "Seeing you lying there like that really fucked me up for a long time. I felt like maybe I didn't do enough to protect you."

Liz's chest twinged. That wasn't the direction she thought this conversation was going to take. "What happened to me wasn't your fault."

"No. But protecting you is kinda part of my job," he said. "And besides… Tom kind of… Well, he brought more death and destruction wherever he went than even Reddington does. No offense."

Liz waved him off.

"I had a few chances to make sure that danger wouldn't come near you anymore and I don't think I did enough to stop it. So what happened might not've been my fault, but I still felt like it was—in a roundabout way. You know guilt's fucked up like that."

"Unfortunately."

"The thing is, if I felt guilty about what happened, I _know_ Reddington must've felt about a thousand times worse. And we both know how he usually deals with guilt like that, guilt over things outside his control. No one better stand in his way.

"I figured after what Garvey did to you, he'd be dead in a week. A month, tops. But Reddington put the brakes on his whole operation to see after you instead. He pulled out all the stops, got you the best care money and blackmail could buy.

"_That_ made sense. It wasn't a surprise that you were his first priority. Of course he would do everything he could to make sure you were all right, but I thought once you were stable and cared for, he'd go after Garvey. But it didn't happen. Months went by and Garvey was still out there, still breathing. I had a hard time wrapping my mind around why Reddington would allow that. But then I got a chance to see him with her."

"With Agnes."

"Yeah. I want you to know, taking care of Agnes was the only thing that kept him from burning the world down to get to Garvey. I'm sure of it," Ressler said. "For all we know, she saved his life then, too."

Liz's breath caught. She could've lost Red then, and she wouldn't have found out for god knows how long. He wouldn't have been at her side when she woke up. Agnes would've grown up without any memories of her father, or even the truth about who he was.

"God. What if that hadn't been enough? What if—"

"No, he wouldn't have left her. He wouldn't have risked it, not while you were unconscious."

"How are you so sure?"

"Well, he didn't do it, did he?" he said.

The question hung in the air. Ressler was right, of course. But that didn't make the fear, the close call, seem any less immediate. Especially after what they'd just been through.

"Sometimes," Ressler said, after a while, "when I was getting ready to leave after a visit, I'd get away with watching him and Agnes together for a few minutes before he noticed me.

"And there was one night that really made me think. Agnes, she… she called him papa. Unprompted, just out of the blue. I don't think I've ever seen so many conflicting emotions on Reddington's face all at once. I ducked back into your room and gave him a while to compose himself before I tried to leave again. Pretended I didn't hear anything or see anything.

"At the time, I thought he was her grandfather, but the way he reacted that day, the way they always were together, it never quite sat right. He was in his element, taking care of her. He was _good_ at it. He was… soft in a way I didn't know he was capable of being. I didn't fully understand what I was seeing until today, but now I guess it makes sense. He was treating her like she was his own kid. Did he know?"

"No, not for sure. Not until recently."

"I think he wanted her to be. Even if it wasn't by blood."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's true."

Ressler nodded, thoughtful. "Because she's your kid. She's part of you." He held her gaze for a moment, silent and serious. "He loves you."

"Yeah," she whispered, not trusting her voice not to crack. "Yeah, he does."


End file.
